Utopia
by finding
Summary: Echizen Ryoma's world is locked within paintings; his own private castle beyond that treacherous forest. But then again, every fairytale has a prince charming. Thrill/Oneshot SSHFE/For Peppermint Kiss. Merry Christmas!


**Fic written for the Pointless but Original Talking Forum Secret Santa Fic Exchange.**

Request Number: 08

Pairing/Groups: Tezuka/Fuji, Sanada/Yukimura, Niou/Yagyuu, anything involving the Rikkai team!, Fuji/Ryoma, Atobe/Ryoma

Squicks/Turn Offs in Fic: M-preg, one-of-them-is-another-creature! (vampire, etc.), gory violence

Interests in Fic: Someone getting pranked. LOL.

Gen/Het/Slash/Smut/None/All-of-the-above?: Gen, Slash, Smut. No Het :P

Request: A main character in the pairing as an artist/musician (artist - preferably painter or sculpter, musician - preferably string player, classical music; however both are free to interpretation!) set after PoT world. Angst is nice but fluff is also good too :) This is very free to interpretation.

**A/N//Message to receiver:**

Hello to you and a very Merry Christmas! :D Well, can't say that you'll definitely like this fic for sure, but please enjoy it all the same. I did take a bit of liberty on the request front, seeing that it is essentially AU… xD Well, yeah, shoot me for it. /hands over gun

Italics in present tense are Ryoma's er, imagination, and italics in past tense are actual events in the past being replayed in his mind.

--

**Painted World**

Echizen Ryoma sees his world through paintbrush strokes and two-dimensional silhouettes. He's a clever boy, his parents used to say, a little proud, a little sad; he's a wasted child, they would add hastily, sitting in front of his easle like it was all there ever was to him.

They love him just as any other child of theirs, but sometimes, it gets a little difficult to express their love. How do you say 'I love you' to someone who doesn't acknowledge your existence?

Ryoma sits, purposely? unintentionally? blocking out his parents' words. They are praising Ryoga again, praising his excellent schoolwork, excellent behaviour, excellent... But Ryoma doesn't hear what he doesn't want to; there is no need. A world takes shape before him, colors already dancing on the blank sheet of canvas.

_He's on the swings today. _

_"Over here, Ryoma-chan~" Ryoma goes, a little reluctantly, taking the swing beside his._

_"Why the sad face?"_

_"No reason." A characteristic pout works its way onto Ryoma's face, and his companion chuckles._

_"Did someone upset you again?"_

_"...No."_

_"Who is it?" He reaches for Ryoma's hair, ruffling it good-naturedly. Ryoma lets out an irritated yelp, frantically brushing his hand away to stop the offensive action._

_In Ryoma's fantasy, he is the athlete prodigy, amazingly skilled in every sport offered at school. Winning comes effortlessly, except when it comes to his brother - and Ryoma hardly likes to lose at all. The pout hasn't worn off yet, pulling on his lips like an extra-heavy weight._

_"I can't believe I lost to that sneaky bastard." He casts a sulky glance in the other's direction. "He so obviously cheated, but everyone believes him."_

_The brunet cocks his head to one side, a feigned look of bewilderment on his face before kicking off on his swing. "But _I've_ always believed you."_

"Ryoma-chan's drawn the swings today, with people on them!" Rinko peeks inquisitively over the boy's shoulder, a full-fledged smile on her face. "It's wonderful. Daddy, come and see this!"

He goes, wordless, in search of his toy racket.

_--_

_He was four on that outing._

_It was his first time out of the house - Rinko was taking him to the sports hall, if only because of her wish for her son to be as healthy and outgoing as the athletes were. The sun surprised him; he lifted a hesitant tiny hand to shield his face. _

_"What's wrong, Ryoma-chan?" His mother asked, worry outlining her words. He didn't respond, only clutched his own hand, examining the floor with glassy, uninterested eyes. She hoisted him into her arms, taking over his share of walking._

_"What a cute child!" Neighbours began to crowd around, cooing over the toddler, each trying to pat his head, kiss his hair. _

_"Why didn't you bring him out earlier, Rinko?"_

_"C'mere, Ryo-chan~!"_

_"Here, here, call Auntie!"_

_Ryoma ignored them, intent on sucking the toy that was his thumb. After all, the world he saw held only what he wanted to see._

_Rinko wore an awkward smile at her child's ill-mannered behaviour. She gave him a little shake, lovingly chiding him in baby language, pretending that a simple action like this would salvage the situation._

_Her neighbours' bombardment came as expected; she sighed softly as she put her little boy down to answer their many questions. Little did she know, Ryoma had wandered off - toward this one stranger._

_The stranger had stood there for a while now, quietly taking in the scene from a little ways away. He knelt before the boy with a curious smile. "Ryo-ma...-chan?" He enunciated every syllable, catching them between his teeth, testing the way they tasted on his tongue._

_Ryoma looked up, bound by that unusual facial expression. For the first time in a long time, he _saw_. It was someone barely a couple of years older than himself. _

_The other boy must have decided that he liked the sound of it, because he went on, "Ryo-ma-chan, Ryo-ma-chan~! Hellooo~"_

_Rinko returned from her trial to see her son with a child she didn't know. "That's enough, little one! You should go back to your mother!" She ordered with more malice than she'd wished for. Then again, you couldn't blame this mother for being a tad overprotective._

_"Awww, okay... See you, Ryo-ma-chan!" He promptly walked off after waving goodbye._

_Yet her son's actions made no sense whatsoever. Ryoma seemed to be raising a hand in mimicry of the older boy, muttering 'Ryo-ma-chan' under his breath, over and over again._

Rinko stops her needlework, elbowing her husband. "What did he draw this time?" She whispers, but Nanjiroh gestures wildly to wave it away.

"I don't see the need to whisper," he shrugs, non-chalant, pointing at his son who is silent before his painting.

There is a house, a familiar street, a huddled group of people. The sun is up, it is noon; yet all is dim in grey background strokes, unattractive and mundane. A boy is walking away from his mother and the crowd, his eyes transfixed on something before him.

And then not quite far away, another, slightly older boy is surrounded by bright hues bouncing off the background, his unwavering smile only for the little boy.

_"See you, Ryo-ma-chan!"_

--

Ryoma graduates from elementary today. He's been home-tutored from when he was old enough for school; Rinko sees no need for a change right now.

Yet her husband disagrees. "It's hard and expensive to hire a tutor nowadays, woman." He says that afternoon, his voice muffled by the naughty magazine he's holding. Rinko frowns upon his statement.

"Ryoma-chan's not ready yet." Her voice is pressed, an unspoken urge seeping through.

Nanjiroh places the magazine on his lap and turns to his wife, looking straight into her eyes. "Who knows, maybe he'll get better there." There is a finality to his tone, but she will not relent so easily.

"Let's just ask Ryoma-chan."

Through it all Ryoma sits in a corner, in _his _corner with a palette in hand. Whether he heard it or not, no one knows.

_"I don't want to go there." Ryoma collapses into a nearby chair. "They can't force me to."_

_He looks up and, seeing that it's Ryoma, smiles widely. "Why not? Transferring schools can be fun. You get to beat people all over aga -"_

_"_He_'s there." He cuts him off with a flat reply._

_He snaps his notebook closed. _

_"Ryoma-chan." _

_"No."_

_"You have to go, or you'll never get better."_

_"No."_

_"You have to go, or I won't come again."_

_"..." Ryoma refuses to look at him, choosing to bore holes in the wallpaper teddybears instead. If only looks could kill._

_"I'll be there, you know~"_

_"...No."_

Rinko heaves a sigh. "Seems like you're right for once, dear."

The latest addition to Ryoma's pile is a sketch of a school that resembles the local junior high; two boys face the entrance, hand in hand, and one of them is Ryoma.

Two days later mother and son find themselves in the registration queue. Rinko has taken over Ryoma's share of talking, busying herself with chatter, covering up for her son's lack of noise - maybe even a little of her own insecurity. With Ryoga, she's never had to worry, but Ryoma... She mentally chides herself for the slightest hint of bitterness.

The officer seems friendly enough; he patiently waits for Rinko to finish jotting down dates, prices, venues. She finally gets her information right, now fumbling to gather her things.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Echizen?" She turns around at the polite voice.

"I believe I have something for your son." He hands her a piece of paper. On it is a single line of apparently ordinary words.

_I knew you'd come._

--

Rinko watches from afar as Ryoma sifts mindlessly through his collection, the collection that had always featured two boys ever since he was four. He seems to be searching for an indefinite, unnamed something...

"At least get a piece of that cake, will you, darling?" She huffs teasingly, rounding her younger son over to the table. "You only turn sixteen once!"

"Hn." He shoves a slice into his mouth and returns to his paintings.

She is happy regardless of who he was addressing, because hey, Ryoma is acknowledging somebody for a change, and that was enough. She takes a look around the table with nothing but cake, and the nearly empty room for his birthday celebration. It feels hollow, insincere.

It had always been easy for her to pick out gifts for others; her younger son was an exception. What should she do? How can she give him something that will make him truly happy, for once?

And then, as if hit with a bolt of inspiration, she knows exactly what to do.

"Say, daddy, how about a small-scale art exhibition for our talented son tomorrow?"

"Are you mad?" Nanjiroh shoots her a look that clearly labels her insane.

"But it's Christmas tomorrow..."

_Ryoma likes to go to him for advice. Or perhaps he just likes his presence. With him, the dark-haired boy can always speak his mind. _

_"My old man's forcing me into a tournament." Despite Ryoma's dislike toward the park, he's agreed to come on a condition that the other let him rant as much as he wanted. "Che."_

_The brunet stops by a vending machine, popping a few coins into the coin slot. Thwack, thwack. "It's a good opportunity for you to showcase your talent, you know~" He hands Ryoma a can of Ponta._

_Ryoma returns from the shock at the other knowing his favorite drink, and catches up with a few long strides. "I don't like it."_

_He pats the shorter boy's head, causing him to wince and nearly choke on his Ponta. "Your father will let you make your own decisions when you're ready."_

_There's a long, not uncomfortable pause as Ryoma ponders that last statement. "You think I really should go?"_

_"You might prefer to pay for that canned drink. Interest rate is 60% per hour, by the way~" At Ryoma's deadpanned expression, he laughs. "I was only pulling your leg."_

_He leans down at the same time Ryoma decides to stick his nose in the air, and his accurately aimed kiss lands on his eye. "O-Oi! What was that for?!"_

_His grin is naughty as he straightens up. "A thank-you bonus for purchasing our canned drinks."_

_"Che." Ryoma exhales - was he holding his breath earlier? -, locking his fingers behind his skull. They are nearing the end of the trail, its meandering paths leading them out of the park. "You're gonna have to pay the medical fees for this -" he jabs a finger at his eye - "if you don't come."_

_He smiles, again, and waves goodbye. "I didn't say I wouldn't go."_

--

Ryoma hasn't painted anything today. His collection is on the boards, under spotlights, examined by hundreds; yet, he's not one of them.

The hall is filled with more people than she would have thought possible, and this makes Rinko very happy. She's managed to rent it for a cheap price, and now, they even have audience.

Another teenager ambles in, a Fuji polaroids camera slung across his shoulder. Rinko walks up to him, happiness still plastered across her face. "I'm sorry, dear, but cameras aren't allowed." She says not unkindly.

"Ah, ma'am, but it's only for a school project. I promise I won't use it for anything else." His smile is pleasant, and she, in her unbeatable mood, gives in.

"Alright, then. Go on in! And Merry Christmas!"

He nods to show his thanks. His retreating back somehow gives Rinko a particular sense of deja vu, almost as if she's known this well-mannered boy for years... She shakes it off, and appears before other visitors in a heartbeat.

The teenager walks down the aisle of paintings alone, his camera going _snap-snap-snap_ at every picture. He can't help but smile - the artist's really got talent. The way a wisp of his hair would fall when he begins to walk, the way his lips curl up with amusement, the look in his eyes; the artist has got them down pat.

There's a painting of their first meeting. A painting of them on the swings, them at a wedding, a school, a park; them staring each other down, frowning at each other, holding each other's hands.

He's amazed at how Ryoma knew that his favorite color is blue, his favorite flower is the lily, the same way he knew that Ryoma likes grape Ponta and detests walks in the park and has an older brother.

And they've only met once...

Ryoma is standing at the end of the aisle, gazing intently at the blank sheet of white before him. He can't get inspiration today, not even a little. _And I thought that idiot said he 'didn't say he wouldn't come'._

"Ryoma-chan?"

Ryoma turns on instinct at his voice.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then comprehension dawns on the brunet, and he smiles.

"I told you I would come, ne?"

He breaks out of his reverie, inwardly catching himself. It's not real. _He's _not real. He's just a figment of -

"Remember me," His voice is playfully soft in Ryoma's ear. He kneels before him, hands placed affectionately on Ryoma's shoulders, "Ryo-ma-chan?"

Ryoma gives a lopsided half-smile - the very first smile in his life; shy, unconvincing, hardly a smile at all. But it doesn't matter.

"I'm not dumb, Syu-su-ke."

[fin]

[Omake]

Syusuke lifts his camera to snap a shot of the two of them. "O-Oi! What was that for?" Ryoma pushes him away indignantly, blinking the flash out of his eyes.

He chuckles at the photo, and clicks the shutter at random. Strange angles, awkward expressions, surprise, deadpan, happiness...

The last blank canvas of Ryoma's collection isn't blank anymore.

--

P.S.: Ryoma suffers from autism. Signs & symptoms might not be 100% accurate or exhaustive. I know, this is rather choppy... Blame it on me for rushing it out. /o/

P.P.S.: Awww, Minty-chan! I hope you like this, even though it sucks! xD;;


End file.
